


The Roses of Picardy

by Eboyv



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Romance, WW1, War Story, historical fiction - Freeform, war romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eboyv/pseuds/Eboyv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU United Kingdom WW1. Elizabeth, an intelligent, young, poor, and very much stranded woman is saved by a man who is all but terrifying. But when she meets a charming American soldier, she is forced to question herself on who she truly loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Roses of Picardy

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Contains abuse, foul language, and possible rape.
> 
> This is an old story that I had finished years ago but I'm revamping it and posting it here now :D

**_Carlisle, UK - 1917_ **

****

Her legs would not move. Could not move. Buried within the cold mud, she desperately tugged at the limb that kept her bound to the earth. With roots and leaves scratching at her ankles, she left red finger marks on her ice pale skin, turning blue in the frost. Of all the places to be stranded and helpless, an eerie forest in the backwoods of god knows where was not at the top of her list. Seeing through the specs glazed in speckled mud, she winced and tugged again, about to cry out before she paused. There was a noise. It was soft and distant, but all the same very much real. The noise became more distinguishable as a large animal tumbling through the weald, its hooves being sucked into the soil with each stride. After the thundering of its mighty gate came the huffing of its lungs and the leather clang of its rider driving it forward. Her heart stilled in terror. She was alone. Vulnerable. Most likely on someone's property that had every right to do what they'd like to her as a trespasser. She blew a curse through the cracks in her chapped lips as the horse, blind from her view, came to a halt somewhere in the forward mist. A mist that so obscured her vision, that all she could make out was an ever growing, ever approaching blue figure.

"Hello?" A voice sounded through the remote hinterland. She dared not make a sound, despite the rapid breath caused from her vibrating heart. For though the brogue, there was no identification of the intent of its owner, whether it be compassionate or restless. And she had no interest in finding out. She began tugging again. Before another call wrung out however, the blue figure had made his way out of the fog and right in her line of site. And to her his. Her eyes immediately spotted the gun in his left hand, and she made a whimpering sound of pure assumption. There was not a single thought on her mind but to get out of the mud and to run, yet as she tugged her ankle throbbed and she cried out. And the stranger moved closer.

"You are hurt." He stated as if calling water wet. No emotion in his eyes nor his voice. She couldn't read his body language at all, her only thoughts were to that gun and where it was pointed. But the silence dragged on and she found it ever more difficult to avoiding filling it with some type of voice. Petrified, she gave in.

"W-what makes you so sure?" She challenged. Maybe if he thought she was tough, he'd lose interest.

"Just a hunch." His accent was heavy and smothered his words, it was something to be expected of a man much older than he with much more facial hair. Yet the man that stood rooted in front of her was very much clean-shaven and well-groomed. His auburn hair combed neatly into place, his untainted white sleeves rolled to his elbows. If she weren't in such a dire situation, she might even take notice of the muscles underneath the fabric or the overall handsomeness of the fellow. But of course, she was too distracted by instinct. An instinct that caused her to flinch violently back as he reached for her, ready to scream even with the knowledge of no one around to hear.

"S-stay away from me!"

"Lord, lass... I en't gonna hurt ye. Take me hand. I'll help you out." His hand then unrolled before her, open and welcoming and surprisingly calloused. She stared unblinking at the hand, and then bemusedly at his face only to find a nonchalant amusement to it. "Well c'mon now. I don't have all day." He grumbled, twitching his fingers. As she carefully took his hand, a sharp, immediate pain struck through her ankle as she was pulled forward and she let go with a gasp. Falling back to the mud, she gripped the embedded joint gently, her hands shaking.

"M-my ankle..."

But before she could ready herself, he had buried his labored fingers into the cold mud, digging gently around her foot. The soil however was unyielding and thick, himself having to use great strength to pull his hands out."You're going to have to take off your shoe. It's really stuck in there." Raising himself, his trousers now covered in mud, he ran his hand around her waist, her other hand being placed around his neck. The blush it earned was all too apparent for Elizabeth and she nodded, looking down at her ankle and hiding the warmth of her cheeks. Oh so slowly, the undone straps of her black shoes inched away from the injured foot and, daintily, it was freed from the confinements of the mud. But as soon as she earned this freedom, it backfired with a loss of balance and she fell back towards her pit of soil, only to be caught by the man. Her eyes nervously flicked up to him, a hard swallow forced down her throat. His gaze was peculiarly bright, his freckled face graciously complimenting to the strong cheekbones and hardened jaw. The lines of his face, now covered with mud revealed years of masterful frowning, and she pondered how she could ever steal her gaze away.

Thankfully, he took no notice to the blush nor the sudden observation of his features, but simply helped her to her feet and brushed them both off. Without another word, he began towards his horse, her hands wrenching her skirt up to follow. "Wait! Sir! That's it?!"

He ceased to turn, broad shoulders still moving towards the massive black horse. "I apologize, miss, but I expect you to be on your way. You _are_ on my land after all." An emerald glance over his shoulder and a smirk sent her hobbling ever closer.

"P-please! I'm new to these parts, sir. I don't have any idea where I am or where to go! My ankle is injured and... I... have nothing." His profile gazed at her for a long while, possibly a shot of deep ponder, or possibly a gaze unaffected by any of her struggles. But if there were to be a type of empathy, it disappeared all together as he swung a leg over his horse and veered the beast gently. "Sir! I beg of you! I hate to burden you but I simply mu-"

"Get on my horse." He stated simply. The man had ignored her frantic cries this entire time and was now offering a hand of relief to her, and she couldn't deny the confusion of all of it. But without question, she took his hand, and with a surprising amount of strength, pulled her up onto the saddle between him and the horse's rough mane. It snorted and shifted at the extra weight. "Hold on." He warned before digging his head into the horse's side and launching them both into the heather. With such a momentum, she was forced to throw herself forward, clinging tightly to the complete stranger, hating herself for never learning to ride a horse.

As they broke from the trees, the fog lifted to a vision of sun-spattered pastures and rolling hills of pure green. Besides a few thickets here and there, the landscape was barren of woodland, a refreshing site to one who'd gotten all too familiar with the unrelenting biome. A stone mansion rested as a spec in the green, highlighted only by the churning of a silver and blue sky. She hated the transportation itself but the rider... her admittance would never be public of the comfort his scent brought to her. Nor would the admittance of her utterly moved sense of gratitude for his generosity towards her misfortune.

By the time they had galloped down the dirt road and turned to an unnecessarily long entry road to the mansion, she found herself at awe at the spectacle. It was the largest piece of property she'd seen let alone been on. The architecture was old and entwined with ivy and vines and rain-saddened stone. Moss grew on the cracks of the masonry, and soot ebbed out the chimneys spouting like pronged horns from this beast of a shelter. And from a woman that came from a long line of nothingness, it was a sight she could bare to observe for hours.

The horse drawing to a slow trot and finally an ambling walk, he swung off the stilled beast and aided her off immediately after. As she carefully reached sound soil, she couldn't help but note the five servants that had filtered from the manor. Lining instinctively from shortest, to tallest, one of them broke from the formation to take hold of the horse's reins and lead it out of view and around the mansion. The other three greeted her knight in shining armor with forced smiles and practiced words. Although she found this peculiar, she stuck near the man's side.

"Hellen. Rochal. Take this woman into the living quarters and tend to whatever she needs. If you require my presence, I'll be in my studies." And just like that, she was left with the confused servants, staring after the man who now had disappeared into the mansion. Her trailing gaze stopped abruptly by the three who now tended to her. A broadened woman gently took her hand with a benevolent smile while a young boy stood at her side. The young woman held guard on the other side of what seemed to be the head maid, twisting her fingers nervously.

"Hello Miss. Right, let's get you inside, shall we?" She said cheerily and with a brogue so thick that she strained to hear her words. This tended to be a common theme.

The small boy beside the woman smiled and added, "Do you need anything miss? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be very nice..." She answered through bitten lips. This kind of service was new to her, and she found herself stumbling over each word like a complete lobcock. As Hellen began to lead her into the house, she noticeably favored her right leg, immediately drawing the attention of the busty woman. Her concern was endearing.

"You alright, miss? What's wrong with your ankle?"

"I think I hurt it in the woods." She admitted shyly, her embarrassment glowing. Her foolishness knew no bounds after all. Hellen's gaze softened and she shouted back towards the remaining servant, the one already returning from putting the horse in the stables, "Orkney! Shelty! Get yer arses to the pantry and grab this miss some wraps, would ye'?" The sudden hard, demanding tone Hellen sported shocked Elizabeth comparative to the sweetness of the prior voice. But she supposed the was her true self, sworn to head maid and runner of this giant mansion. A voice of viciousness behind the services. The woman named Shelty and the older man named Orkney stopped immediately what they were doing and with a quaint nod, rushed into the house.

While she stood like a newly-born fawn, she staggered up the steps by Hellen's guiding arm, carefully placing her within the living quarters. To say the mansion was grand would simply be undermining the very existence of such magnificence. The walls were coated in a gentle cream paper, mahogany wood panels on every floor board, banner, and doorway. A chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling, candles light each small prong that boasted a polished glass bulb. Guided onto the sofa, her hand ran through a velvet-like cloth, fingers entwining on the fringe of the pillows that supported her leg now. She was enthralled by the enormity of such wealth, yet never once forgot to remind herself this was only temporary. That she was but a humble guest in this wondrous abode.

"My, my. Look at those tattered clothes. You can't rightly where that for the lords now, can you?" Hellen grimaced, "Rochal! Get the miss some new garments. I'm sure old mistress wouldn't mind her clothes going to purpose, peace rest her soul." The boy nodded then scampered up the broad, varnished staircase. Hellen smiled sweetly down to Elizabeth. Despite her frightening appearance before, her facade of service was very persuading. "Well look at you! You are just an angel if I ever saw one, such a pretty young thing to be wearing clothes like these and be in such feeble condition! Whatever are you doing all the way out here?"

Never minding the unguarded questions she hesitantly chirped, "W-well, Miss Hellen..." Swallowing she tried forming her words carefully in her head, "I do not have much of a story to tell I'm afraid, but where I have come from is London if that is what you mean." At first Hellen was confused by the coyness of her answer, though all the while nodded her head and smiled in understanding. No wonder she was head maid.

"Well do not worry, miss. You are safe with us. Whatever past you are trying to escape, we will provide hospitality to the best of our abilities and ensure you a pleasant stay while you are here. However..." The sudden darkening of the woman's expression surprised her as she heard the maid quietly whisper in a shifty tone, "I must warn you to be careful around our master, miss. He is not right in the head now a days... and I'm afraid of what might happen would you be in the wrong circumstance..."

"Of the man who saved me? Whatever do you mean?" She asked, suddenly finding herself concerned for her rescuer.

"Indeed. What do you mean, Ms. Hellen?" A voice called out from the doorway with an all-too familiar brogue. The man it belonged to had a similar face to her rescuer, but his hair was longer and brown-hued, tethered in volume with vibrantly hazel eyes. A glass of liquor sat in his hand as he stood there, and she found herself becoming unsteady around a figure that gave off so much power... especially to a woman like Hellen, who's face had now paled.

"N-nothing, Master Angus. My apologies." She stuttered.

"It is quite alright, Ms. Hellen. Might I ask who this pretty little lass is?" He said, approaching them with a look of interest, but not in the way she feared of a man. The way carried himself, the baritone in his voice, it was all too obvious he was the head of the household therefore responsible for the guests that stay within his domain.

"Elizabeth, sir."

"Elizabeth? What a wonderful name. Do you have a last name, miss?" Her mouth quivered before she glanced down sheepishly.

"Not anymore, sir."

"I see. You do not have to tell me if you do not want to. And please, call me Angus." Giving a kind smile he raised his glass towards her and took a drink.

"If that is what you prefer, Angus." She said with a smile in return, "... so, you are the master of this house?" This rewarded a crooked grin from Angus, all too similar to the auburn gentleman she had met just a few hours ago.

"One of four, yes."

"Four?"

"Yes. This mansion was inherited by my family. My brothers and I are responsible for it, and my little brother will inherit it when we pass." She contemplated this for a minute, unwinding what he said and cocking her head partially to the side.

"You have five brothers? It must be difficult with competition in the family.." Just as Rochal came into the room with a long, blue dress, they were startled to hear a loud, booming laugh emit from Angus' mouth, almost spitting his liquor.

"You have no idea, lassie." Taking another sip he registered the dress in Rochal's hands, smiled, and started towards what looked like the kitchen. "Alright, I'll leave you to your woman business. I'll have you know though, if you ever need anything, you can always ask help from me and Gavan."

"Is Gavan the name of the auburn haired man?" Without a thought the words slipped with every ounce of eagerness and the reaction of a darkened face concerned her.

"Um. No, lassie. That would be my brother, Alec."

"Oh. Should I not ask him for help, Sir Angus?" She could barely make out his eyes as his hair had fallen over them. His gate had eliminated the boisterous stride he had before, his frame turning away to the kitchen as he slowly stated.

"I'd suggest not going near Alec, miss Elizabeth. The man needs his rest."

She remained there upon the velvet furniture. Confused, lost, curious as to why ever person involved in this mansion seemed to cower from the man that had treated her with such kindness. Was he really not that right in the head? Surely he wasn't dangerous if he had saved her life. But if such a cheery man as Angus and such a warm-hearted woman as Hellen both told to be weary of him, shouldn't she? So caught in this web of thoughts, she hadn't even noticed Hellen raising her from the sofa and guiding her towards the bathroom, Rochal following close behind and trying to drag the rim of the dress on the ground. "Right. Here you go, miss. Try this on." Suddenly she was handed the blue dress and for a second, her concern disappeared at the shock of how exquisite the cloth was. It was soft in her hand, probably some type of silk. She didn't feel right wearing such beautiful garments, especially with how filthy she was from her days of walking along the English country side and her current garments tattered and soiled. Nevertheless, slipping off her remaining shoe and her dress, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her body was so lean, lacking nourishment and no memory of a supple time. With no money in her pockets, she was never able to afford a healthy meal, so now her ribs were too apparent for a healthy woman and her legs and arms deprived of any true meat. It was a horrific sight, but it seemed as she slipped on the dress, it covered all the damaged parts behind the beautiful sheets of cloth and it hung around her neck so perfectly that for a split second, she found herself believing she belonged in the dress, in this house, and in this lifestyle. If only that were to be true.

When the door opened, Rochal was standing there, a bright grin on his face ear to ear. With a supportive hand, she was guided back into the living room and then greeted by two other servants, one fiddling with the radio. Shelty, a young, pretty woman took her gently by the arm and placed her on the table's edge where she gently took her foot in her hand. While a wince was apparent on her face, Hellen continued to praise Elizabeth's strength as Shelty massaged the foot, trying to find where the problem was. Orkney, who paused from flipping through the stations took a wet cloth and slowly ran the water over her battered, blistered feet, cleansing her pale skin of cold mud and revealing a blue-black bruise around her ankle. The young maid grimaced at the sight, taking hold of the cloth and padding the area around it. With gentle, experience hands, Shelty wrapped her foot in soft bandages, not noticing Orkney returning to fiddling with the radio.

"Oi! Orkney, would you stop that! You know how Alec likes his peace and quiet."

"Oh come on, Ms. Hellen! We have a guest, we might as well show some courtesy." Orkney pleaded.

"I'll show you some courtesy right up your-" Suddenly Hellen paused as a sliver of music filtered through the radio. As Orkney quickly searched for the sound again, he ran across the station and with steady fingers, eliminated all static from the music.

 _She is watching by the poplars_  
Colinette with the sea blue eyes  
She is watching and longing and waiting  
Where the long white roadway lies  
And a song stirs in the silence  
As the wind in the boughs above  
She listens and starts and trembles  
'Tis the first little song of love

Shelty smiled widely, giving a laugh as Orkney kicked up in the air with excitement and pride, taking Shelty's hand in his own for a dance. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at their joy, finding the music soothing as much as the tone was sad. Even though they played the song often on the radio, being as it was a war song to give pride to the UK, Elizabeth enjoyed any sound of music. She hadn't heard the sweet melodies of music in such a long time, and even with the melancholy tune of the song, it made her feel happy and hopeful. And obviously, the slow dancing servants found it just as happy, for even Hellen was leaning against the sofa and grinning widely as Rochal comedically danced with an invisible partner.

As Elizabeth smiled at the scene, a man had appeared in the door way, unapparent to the group. His hair was a mess, his eyes swollen from liquor and his gaze aggravated and exhausted as he stared at the dancing servants. Originally he had come down to end the ruckus he heard but the sight of a beautiful young woman with long, blond hair thwarted his plans. She wore his mother's dress like a goddess and he felt his heart thump in his chest. That smile she wore gave him goose bumps and though his spite did not fade for the sudden music and dancing, he just stood in the shadows, not wanting to interrupt the woman's joy, auburn hair shielding his eyes.

 _Roses are shining in Picardy_  
In the hush of the silver dew  
Roses are flowering in Picardy  
But there's never a rose like you  
And the roses will die with the summer time  
And our roads may be far apart  
But there's one rose that dies not in Picardy  
'Tis the rose that I keep in my heart.

_To Be Continued..._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the names confused you. I'd like to hear what you think!
> 
> Notes:
> 
> Elizabeth: Fem England
> 
> Alec: Scotland
> 
> Angus: Ireland
> 
> Gavan: Wales
> 
> Hellen: Hebrides
> 
> Rochal: Rockall
> 
> Shelty: Shetland Islands
> 
> Orkney: Orkney Islands
> 
> Mother: Britannia
> 
> Song:
> 
> (Youtube)/watch?v=GZ87ICmR-2k


End file.
